


The Middle

by Trash



Series: Faux Pas [2]
Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:32:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you graduate you and Brad celebrate by travelling to go see your favourite bands play at a summer festival in Arizona. Brad’s favourite bands, not your's…but you don’t complain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Middle

When you graduate you and Brad celebrate by travelling to go see your favourite bands play at a summer festival in Arizona. Brad’s favourite bands…but you don’t complain.

Pitching the tent is unbelievably hard considering Brad keeps stopping – to admire the view when you bend over, apparently. You just want the thing up and sorted. You’ve been half dreading the whole thing ever since Brad suggested it.

Sharing a tent with the boy you’re pretty sure you’ve fallen in love with is a daunting concept and now, staring at the half built tent and Brad standing with a joint hanging from his mouth, hands on his hips and his pelvis thrust forward, you’re terrified.

”Are you going to help me?”

Brad shrugs, “Want a joint?”

By the time you get the tent up the sun is blazing and you can’t help but whine petulantly.

“Aaw,” Brad coos, “Baby want an ice cream?”

You nod, grin and let Brad take your hands and pull you to your feet. This is the closest you’ve both been since the dance and that night and you’re over the fucking moon. At school Brad always has someone to talk to, hang out with and always left you feeling superfluous. But now there’s only you and him.

Brad buys you a cone with sprinkles and grins at you like the Chesire Cat over the top of his own as he laps at it sensually.

He buys you both a tour shirt even though you had waved a twenty dollar note in his face saying “I can pay for my own, man.”

“Dude!” Brad laughs, snatching it from the air between you and jamming it in your back pocket, smacking your ass for good measure.

You spend the day watching bands you’ve hardly heard of with Brad bouncing around beside you. You both get drunk. Or Brad gets drunk and eventually you hand him the beer you’ve been holding for hours, twisting your face with every sip.

It’s after midnight when you make it back to the tent, picking your way carefully over guide lines and tent pegs. With a battery powered lantern hung from the roof of the tent you watch Brad undress, shiver and whine about how fucking cold it is and put his clothes back on. You catch yourself and shake your head, climb into your sleeping bag awkwardly.

You lie there, staring at the side of the tent and silhouettes moving around outside. There’s no way you’ll sleep, what with the noise and your raging hard on. You try to think unsexy thoughts but they all end up ultimately in Brad going down on you.

“Can’t sleep Mikey?”

His mouth is close to your ear, his breath ghosting over your neck. You want to say anything but all you can do is shiver and close your eyes.

Brad shifts closer, unzipping the side of your sleeping back and kissing your neck, “Roll over,” he murmurs, sliding a hand over your hip and pulling you closer. Any other time you’d have told Brad where to get off. But today it’s been all about you. It’s just been the two of you, with nobody to spoil it.

So you do as you’re told and roll toward Brad, your lips meeting and you let him deepen the kiss. Brad’s hand slides from your hip to your crotch, massaging you through your pants roughly.

You gasp, breaking the kiss and moaning softly. You push your hand into the front of Brad’s jeans, wrapping it around him and groaning when Brad does the same to you. Your rhythms match and you both moan quietly against each others lips.

You come, bucking your hips and murmuring Brad’s name breathlessly. It isn’t long until the other boy follows, and you collapse against each other tiredly. And you fall asleep like that, wrapped in each others arms.

In the morning you wake up alone to the sounds of Brad throwing up outside. You unzip the tent and peer out, “What the hell?”

“Dude,” Brad whimpers, resting his hands on his knees and staring at you dazedly, “How much did I drink yesterday?”

And you just shrug and zip up the tent, crawling back into your sleeping back and pulling it over your head.


End file.
